Life as a Frozen Spoon
by hutch-life
Summary: Stuck on a chilly planet, Jim and Spock have to keep warm.  Expect PWP and bad language!


**Life as a Frozen Spoon**

**A/N: Please expect bad language and sexual content … **

"That's the last of it," sighed Jim as he threw the last feeble branch onto the dying embers of their fire.

"Indeed, captain," answered Spock, glancing up. His face looked as inhuman as Jim had ever seen it – his sharp features thrown into dramatic, if unreliable, relief by the flames. Spock's pale skin appeared quite sanguine in the firelight, and Jim amused himself for a moment by considering what creative insults the fire might add to Bones's usual devil-related repertoire. "I think it might be unwise to venture out of the relative safety of this cave in search of more, now that the sun has set."

Jim nodded dully, and wrapped his arms tighter around himself. It was ball-freezingly cold, and the night stretched before them like one long boring knock-knock joke. Come mid-day tomorrow, the Enterprise would be able to return, and pick them up, but until then they were stuck here, on this freezing fucker of a planet.

"Damned ion storms," muttered Jim, wriggling his toes inside his boot to try and fend off frostbite.

"Quite unusual for an eruption to occur so violently, and so unexpectedly," answered Spock, who's hearing, it would seem, was totally unaffected by the cold. Jim feared his own ears might drop off at any moment.

"It's all right, Spock," said Jim, knowing that the Vulcan had been as close as he had ever come to being embarrassed at his failure to detect the imminent expulsion of ions from the nearest star, "No one could have predicted it." It felt like it had cost him at least a toe's worth of heat energy just to say that, and Jim closed his mouth with a snap.

"I have been ruminating on possible ways to improve the Enterprise scanning systems for this particular type of-"began Spock, staring into the glowing coals, but Jim let out another sigh before he could stop himself. He felt guilt pool in his stomach immediately as Spock's sharp eyes shot up to his own. One eyebrow headed north, slowly, disparagingly.

"I'm sorry, Spock," said Jim, meaning every word, "I- I'm just so damned cold. I don't think I can think about equations and ions right now."

"I understand, captain," his companion said, his voice surprisingly warm. For all that he could be a stubborn, tiresome bastard sometimes, Spock was a good friend when it really mattered. Jim shifted uncomfortably. He could no longer feel his backside.

"Perhaps we should try to get some rest," said Spock. Jim glanced over to the pile of dried grass and plants that was sitting next to the fire. As soon as it had become obvious that the Enterprise's orbit had been compromised, and communications had gone down, they had gathered as much firewood and dry vegetation as possible and bundled it into the cave where they now sat. The temperatures on this planet could drop to far below freezing at night.

"Yeah, you're probably right," answered Jim. He stood with difficulty, and made towards the heap. The grass was warm from the fire, and was giving off a pleasant, musty smell.

"I suggest the best course of action will be to lie on top of most of it," began Spock, surveying the pile, "That way the conductivity of the stone floor might be somewhat negated. The remainder should be used to cover us, as far as it will be possible."

"Agreed," said Jim shortly. The cold was making him irritable, and he felt that short sentences would be safest. He helped Spock arrange a make-shift mattress out of the larger portion of the grass, and then they both paused, somewhat awkwardly. "Spock, I know you're used to the warm," began Jim, "perhaps you should take it – you're probably feeling the cold worse than me,"

"While I appreciate the sentiment, captain," began Spock, folding his hands behind him as if they were back on the bridge, and Jim could expect his yeoman to bring him a nice cup of coffee any second, "that would be an illogical course of action. Firstly, while it is true that I prefer a warmer ambient temperature than you, my Vulcan physiology enables me to regulate my body temperature better than a human. Secondly, sharing body heat will benefit us both." He paused and looked steadily at Jim. Jim felt an unexpected surge of anxiety roll in his stomach, but still let a smile pull at the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, Mr. Spock. Big spoon, or little spoon?"

Spock, still staring at him levelling in the dim light blinked once,

"Pardon me, captain?"

"It's a human thing, Spock," smiled Jim, turning to the grass, and flicking some stray bits away from the fire with his boot. He glanced up, and found Spock still staring at him, eyebrow raised at half-mast. Jim lifted his hands and awkwardly bent them into a crude imitation of what he meant. The eyebrow reached its peak swiftly, and Spock gave an almost imperceptible sigh,

"I have no preference, Jim," he said with a somewhat weary tone.

"I'll be big spoon, then," answered Jim. Spock nodded in assent, and they both made towards the heap. In only a few moments, they were as comfortable as they could expect to be, and fell into silence.

Jim couldn't have been more awake. The cold was biting at his nose and ears, and he was trying hard not to shiver. The light from the fire behind him was enough to pick out the shape of Spock's ear, and he stared at it for something to do. He was unbearably conscious of his breathing, lest it ghost onto Spock's neck and disturb him. Minutes passed, but they felt like hours to Jim. His leg was already protesting at the hard floor, and he desperately wanted to move it, but felt suddenly awkward about irritating his friend. He'd known Spock well for over three years now, but never before had he been this close to him. The Vulcan was funny about physical contact, and Jim respected that, even if he did sometimes deliberately break the unspoken taboo to try and get a rise out of him. At first it had been hard – Jim was a physical man, and enjoyed showing his affection for his friends with a friendly pat on the arm or nudge of the elbow. But Spock's expressive eyebrows had quickly taught him to be more reticent around his first officer.

So Jim was understandably surprised when Spock said softly,

"You should move closer, captain, and preserve some of our warmth."

Jim was still for the measure of a few heartbeats, which, he noted, had sped up considerably. Then he shifted forward with a little difficulty, tucking his knees up behind Spock's, and pressing his chest as close as was decent to Spock's back. This left his arm in a kind of embarrassed limbo, perched precariously at his side, and threatening to fall forward at any moment. The Vulcan seemed to be aware of the problem, however, and after a minute or two Jim felt a warm hand close around his wrist and draw his arm forward to rest against a warm chest. It _was_ weird, and Jim couldn't deny it. Before he could stop himself, he let out an awkward little giggle, that sounded displeasingly like it belonged to a schoolgirl. Spock did not make the situation any better. He remained entirely silent, as if the mortifying noise had never existed. Its memory hung in the frozen air like a dirty neon sign.

Spock was warm, and despite the situation bringing out Jim's apparently repressed propensity to titter like a child in a sex education lesson, it felt good to be near him. For the first time, Jim could _smell_ him, too. It was subtle, and natural. Somewhat dusty and earthy from their work earlier, but also warm and soft. As quietly as his could, he brought his face closer, so that he could no longer see Spock's ear. Now he caught the faint scent of soap from the Vulcan's hair, and he could feel the warmth radiating from Spock's neck. He closed his eyes, and relaxed as much as the cold would permit. He felt his breathing slow, and begin to fall into step with Spock's – the chest rising against his hand, and his own pressing against his first officer's back.

Jim started to doze, not quite sleeping, but increasingly far from being awake. Dreams began to mix with reality, and imaginings wondered incoherently through his mind. The face of his yeoman flickered through his thoughts, and he felt warmer than he had done in hours. She smiled at him with a heavy, sultry gaze, and he felt his pulse throb in his chest and wrists.

Spock shifted, and Jim's dreams melted away suddenly. He was instantly aware of the cold air pressing in on him, and the heat of his companion at his front. He was also instantly aware of his hard-on. Hot, sticky embarrassment shot through him, and he breathed heavily. He wanted to move backwards, but feared that the movement would make his predicament all the more obvious. Then, to his everlasting humiliation, Spock spoke:

"It's all right, captain."

Jim let out a breath,

"Sorry, Spock," he said, with the faintest hint of a laugh.

"You were asleep," the Vulcan said quietly, and Jim felt the words vibrating through Spock's chest, "Your dreams must have engendered the reaction."

"Yeah," breathed Jim. But Spock's words had not set him at ease; indeed, he could feel himself growing harder by the second, blood pooling in his groin. Moments passed, and Jim willed himself soft, to no avail. Soon he was fully hard, and pressing unmistakably into Spock's lower back.

"God," huffed Jim with false humour, "I'm … I'm really sorry,"

"Try to relax, captain."

They lay silently for a long while. Jim would have given anything – his collection of films, that bottle of aged scotch he'd been hiding, the credits he been saving since they began on their voyage – anything, for the earth to swallow him up. His erection stayed resolutely hard. The pressure was actually starting to hurt. Finally Spock spoke again,

"Captain, perhaps it would be prudent to deal with the situation. Otherwise you will not rest, and I fear your circulation will suffer."

Jim swallowed thickly. He tried to clear his throat, but it was painfully dry. He shifted back slightly, enough to slip his hand down to the front of his trousers. He fumbled unsuccessfully with the fastening. His hands were cold and numb.

"Fuck's sake," he breathed as he fiddled with the buttons. Then his heart jumped into his throat: Spock turned over, shifting in the grass, to face him. His eyes were barely perceptible in the darkness, but Jim searched for them regardless, hoping to see anything but disgust in his friend's expression. Wordlessly, he felt Spock's hands join his own, and manage the buttons quickly and efficiently. Spock pulled the fabric aside firmly, and Jim let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he felt the Vulcan's comparatively warm fingers extricate his erection from his boxers.

Spock took him in a firm grasp and stroked him once up and down. Electric pleasure shot through Jim like a bolt of lightning, and he had to bite back a moan, only a shaky breath escaping him. Spock stroked him again, and then again, beginning a steady but effective rhythm. Jim lay numbly, hardly daring to move, in case he broke whatever bizarre spell had brought about this unbelievable series of events. His cock pulsed heavily in Spock's hand, and he felt his balls pulse and tighten. Spock quickened his pace a little, and Jim couldn't help but gasp, his breath now coming fast as he spiralled into ecstasy. The strangeness, and awkwardness of it was adding exponentially to his arousal. He let out a grunt as Spock unexpectedly ran his thumb over the swollen head of his cock.

"Ss … Spock," he whispered, shutting his eyes tightly. Panic and bliss were welling up inside him. His dick throbbed. He felt his hips shifting, beyond his control, thrusting at the same pace that Spock was jerking him off. Suddenly, Jim felt the tingling approach, his balls tightened further, and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Spock," he grated out, trying to put a warning tone into his voice. But Spock did not stop, or pull away. He increased the pressure of his hand just enough, and rubbed his thumb firmly over the sensitive spot beneath the tip. Jim let out a soft noise, and then he was there. Release washed over him, obliterating all other emotion. He felt Spock's hand become still, and he came. His cock jerked, pumping semen out violently a few blissful times.

Slowly, slowly, Jim fell back to earth. His breathing was heavy, like he'd been running. The cold suddenly wrapped around him, as if it had been absent for the last few minutes. He didn't want to open his eyes, and face up to the reality of what had just happened, but he knew he didn't have a choice. He felt Spock move, and begrudgingly cracked open his eyes. Faintly, he saw, or sensed, Spock reaching his hand behind him. Jim realised that Spock, logical to the last, had caught the product of his orgasm in his other hand, and was now disposing of it.

Spock settled back, and Jim cast about hopelessly for something to say. But before he could make some hideously inadequate expression of gratitude, Spock's low voice interrupted,

"Hopefully you will find it easier to rest now. We should try to sleep, and conserve our energy. The ion storm should pass over the planet by 10.00 hours. We should be back on the ship by the beginning of Beta shift."

Jim almost laughed. Only Spock could give someone a hand-job, and then include the words 'ion', 'conserve' and 'beta' in his pillow-talk. He nodded mutely. But before he fell back into sleep, he felt Spock's arm rest comfortingly over his waist.

"Good night, Spock," he whispered.

"Good night, captain."

Criticism gratefully received!


End file.
